“That doesn’t mean shit.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a fake marriage.” The words come out easy, familiar, but somehow don’t sit quite right on my tongue anymore.
It’s wild that I’m even doing this. If you’d told me a year ago, hell, six months ago, that I’d be standing here, getting dressed for a wedding—my second wedding—I’d have laughed in your face.
Seth chuckles, tipping his beer bottle toward me. “Yeah, I can see that. But something tells me it might not stay that way for long. Scarlett said the way you look at Regan doesn’t look fake.”
I shake my head. “It’s just until the dust settles,” I murmur, adjusting my cufflink. That’s what we agreed to as part of the contract. That’s the deadline. Be sure everything’s finalized and established with the house, barns and business, and then decide from there what we want to do.
But for the first time since we agreed to leave things open-ended, I know without a doubt that I don’t want that. What comes after all this, I hope, isn’t going our separate ways.I hope she chooses me. Regan’s the only woman I’ve ever been with where I’m not looking for an expiration date or a way out. And maybe that’s why it isn’t scary thinking about remarrying her today.
“She seems great,” Seth adds, more serious now. “Her family too.”
“She is.” The words slip out honestly. Because it’s the truth.
The photographer moves about the room, taking a few more photos of her brothers and then shifts to the artwork on the walls. The space itself looks much different from when I first saw it with Mrs. Mayberry, and I hope that’s clear to whoever looksat these photos someday. The amount of effort that Regan put into all this, not just for today, but for every couple that might walk through here or choose our property for their wedding, is a testament to her hard work and the pride she takes in everything that she does.
“Okay, great,” the photographer announces, checking something on her camera. “I’ve already finished with Regan and the girls, so next up is your first look. Regan said she understood if you didn’t want to do it, but she thought it might make a good shot for the website if you pose by the pond when you see her in her dress for the first time.”
Seth glances at me with his brows raised, likely waiting to see if I’ll back out or come up with some sort of excuse for why I shouldn’t have a first look at my fake wedding.
Lawson and Cash are in the corner, chatting quietly and not paying any attention. Regan’s oldest brother and the state of North Carolina’s governor, Troy, and Colt are already down at the Marshall farm, making final preparations for the ceremony.
I take a breath. “That’s fine. Just tell me where you need me to be.”
The photographer nods, satisfied, and we head out, walking slowly down the dirt road that leads back toward the main house. The air is thick with late-afternoon heat, the kind that clings to your skin but doesn’t quite suffocate. It’s enough to have a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin by the time we make it a few steps and I’m already looking forward to getting out of this suit and relaxing with my girl once the ceremony’s over.
My eyes scan the property, taking in the way it’s all come together. I shouldbe annoyed that Regan was up at dawn mowing the entire damn field while I was dead to the world after working two nights ago. But instead, I’m just... impressed.
She’s good.At all of it. Organizing, planning, running this place like she was made to do it. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up in a family full of men and have to fend for yourself. And when you grow up watching Mr. and Mrs. Mayberry tend to the place. Frankly, she knows it better than me. And maybe that’s a big part of what I like about her.
She’s independent. Capable. And yet—somewhere deep down, buried beneath everything—I think there’s a small, selfish part of me that likes knowing that despite all that, she wants my touch. She needs my hands, tongue and body. And she loves coming on my cock.
Frankly, I’m fucked up.
“Okay, so I’m thinking you stand here, turn your back to the cottages where she is, and I’ll capture some shots of her walking down the road. Then I’ll cue you when to turn around. That work?”
“Sure.” My voice is even, but my pulse? Wrecked. I spin around, back facing the direction she’ll be coming from, locking eyes with my brother instead who’s the only one out here with me now. He’s grinning like an idiot, and I immediately regret this decision.
“Never in my motherfucking—” he mumbles.
“Don’t,” I cut him off, shooting him a look as he bites down on his fist to stifle a chuckle.
A few seconds pass, but he doesn’t stop smiling. Then, suddenly, his expression shifts. His gaze lifts over my left shoulder, locking onto something, orsomeonewalking towards us.
“Oh… shit…” His voice trails off, low and almost reverent.
That’s all it takes for me to know I’m done for.
I can feel her before I see her. The way the air changes. The soft, honeysuckle scent that wraps around me, sweet and intoxicating. My hands curl into fists at my sides because I want to turn around so fucking bad, but Ineeda second. Because I already know that whatever I’m about to see is going to ruin any last bit of my control. The control that I’ve held onto so tightly for years thinking I’m better off alone is about to be demolished all in the name of a small town girl with big blue eyes and red hair.
The soft clicking of the camera fades into the background as her heat finally reaches me.
“Okay, Hayes,” the photographer says gently. “You can turn around.”
I inhale once, then move.
AndJesus Christ.
